


His Name Is Shame

by DariaHernandez



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Tim Drake, Coming Out, Gay Jason Todd, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DariaHernandez/pseuds/DariaHernandez
Summary: “What about this homicide investigation is so hilarious, Jason?” Dick asks.Jason has to stifle a fresh bout of laughter so he can get the words out, “That’s not a text message, Dickwad. That’s the Grindr notification sound.”. . .Or: Jason doesn’t think coming out to his fellow ex-Robins is a big deal. But it is to Tim Drake. A very big deal.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 12
Kudos: 401





	His Name Is Shame

**Author's Note:**

> ***EDIT: 4/28/2020*** I wrote the first version in a few hours and there's a lot I disliked about the second half, so for the sake of my pride (and because I'd like to continue this story) I'm editing it. The basic story hasn't changed.

They’re meeting in Red Robin’s “safehouse”—it’s a classic six on the Upper West Side—to go over the Lepp murder. Jason feels exposed without his uniform and digs his hands into the pockets of his motorcycle jacket when the doorman gives him the go-ahead to use the elevators. 

He reaches Drake’s apartment and the door is already opening. It’s Dick, looking uncharacteristically harried. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be fashionably late,” Dick says when they reach Drake’s kitchen-cum-situation-room. 

“Fuck off, Dick. You’re lucky I showed at all,” Jason growls. At the table, Drake is poring over several manila folders worth of case notes. He lifts his head to acknowledge Jason, and Jason can tell he’s deliberating whether or not to smile politely. 

“You’re really sure this is how you want to use your favor?” Jason asks. Last month, Drake had saved his ass from a sting gone wrong. Jason thought it unconscionable not to pay him back somehow, if only for his own peace of mind, so he offered the guy exactly one favor. 

Drake frowns, “Loath as I am to admit it, you’re the expert on Gotham’s mob activity. We need to prove that _charming_ real estate mogul Adam Shultz put a hit out on Cheryl Lepp through the Maronis.”

Jason nods and takes the seat opposite Drake at the kitchen table. 

“Okay, hit me,” he says. 

Drake gives a tiny sigh of relief. “Shultz’s motive is clear. Lepp was weeks away from finishing her exposé on his money laundering. It’s not unthinkable that someone at the _Gotham Gazette_ betrayed her.” 

Dick, who’s been pacing, chimes in, “We bugged Umberto Maroni’s hotel room. Can you help us analyze the audio?” 

Jason grunts in the affirmative and Drake opens his laptop. A man’s voice comes through its speakers clearly, “—has got to be the dumbest motherfucker I’ve ever met!” 

Maroni talks shit on the phone for a few more minutes before hanging up the call. Dick and Drake are leaning close to the computer, brows furrowed in concentration. 

Then Jason hears that unmistakable sound. 

_Brrrp! . . . Brrrp!_

Dick scowls, “Can we find out who’s texting him? It could be Shultz.” 

At that Jason bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard that he almost falls sideways off his chair. He laughs so hard his head hurts. Dick does not look amused. 

“What about this homicide investigation is so hilarious, Jason?” he asks.

Jason has to stifle a fresh bout of laughter so he can get the words out. “That’s not a text message, Dickwad. That’s the Grindr notification sound.” 

The look on Dick’s face is hard to describe, but it’s the funniest thing Jason has ever seen. Drake’s cheeks turn a deep red. Scratch everything; Jason is very glad he showed up tonight. 

After a full minute of silence, Dick replies, “Oh. My bad.” 

Then when his embarrassment begins to subside, Dick chuckles, “I’m surprised you recognize it.” 

Jason acknowledges that he’s at a crossroads. On the one hand, he hasn’t actively tried to hide his sexuality since he returned to Gotham. On the other hand, he doesn’t want the Bats knowing anything about him beyond his braggable kill count. He decides, _Fuck it._

“I recognize it, Dickie dear, because I am a gay man,” Jason deadpans. If the other two men looked floored before, they’re practically catatonic now. He notices that the thin line of Drake’s mouth is trembling, threatening to turn into a scowl. Huh. Maybe his replacement’s a homophobe. Fancy that. 

Dick clears his throat to get Jason’s attention, “Thanks, Jay. It means a lot that you shared that with us.” 

Drake looks like he’s about to throw up. Yeah, Jason’s really feeling the love. 

“It’s not a secret,” Jason says with finality. “Are we solving this case or what?” 

. . . . . .

It’s five in the morning when Jason leaves Drake’s apartment. He called it a night after Dick fell asleep and started drooling on the kitchen table. They hadn’t come up with many leads, but if Drake is as good as they say, Shultz won’t be able to so much as fart without his knowing. Jason heads uptown on the train, and when he gets off at Jefferson St. Station in Burnley, he feels eyes on his back. Not the eyes of muggers, or of frightened women who cross the street at the sight of him. They’re eyes from the rooftops. 

Christ. The last thing he needs is some freaks ambushing him when he’s running on fumes. Except—freaks and dress-ups don’t know what he looks like out of uniform. Jason rounds the corner on a small side street near his current place and whips his head toward the familiar sound of boots on roof gravel. He makes out hints of dark red and a black cowl. 

_Red Robin?_ What the hell would Drake be doing tailing him? No, he's imagining things. Jason meanders around his neighborhood until he can’t feel the eyes anymore. 

. . . . 

A week has passed since Jason visited Drake’s apartment. Drake keeps Jason apprised of his breakthroughs in the Lepp murder case through brief impersonal messages on Jason’s work phone. Jason wonders distantly if Drake’s afraid of his gay cooties. 

Needless to say, Jason is surprised when he returns to his apartment building one afternoon with two armfuls of Trader Joe’s produce to find Drake standing on his stoop. He’s wearing a dark cashmere V-neck and black slacks, much dressier than the usual civvies Jason has seen him wear. 

“Can we talk?” Drake asks, worrying his lower lip. There’s a nervous energy about him that puts Jason on edge. He should turn Drake away, but if he’s being honest, he wants to know what the man has to say. 

“Okay,” Jason huffs. “But never show up at my place unannounced again, ‘cause you won’t get this warm a welcome the next time.” 

Drake nods distractedly and follows Jason up the stairs without a word. He does grab the grocery bags when Jason needs to fish out his house key, which Jason finds oddly considerate. 

Drake shuffles inside after Jason and puts the bags on Jason’s shitty Formica countertop. This place is a rathole compared to Drake’s lavish apartment and its patrician décor, but Jason keeps it clean when he’s living here. 

The other guy still hasn’t said a word. 

“Well?” Jason asks inelegantly.

Drake’s nervous energy spikes like a solar flare. He watches Jason put away the perishables and, to his credit, tries to formulate a sentence, “Well—it’s, well—”

Jason makes his way to his living room—a sofa and an aged television—with a sputtering Drake in tow. He’s quickly losing his patience. 

“Drake,” he says.

“Yes?” Drake answers, and his voice is strangely soft.

“Did you follow me home last week?” Jason fully expects Drake to deny it and he’s all too willing to believe him.

“Yes, I did,” Drake says instead. 

“Why?” Jason asks when he doesn’t elaborate. Drake steps forward, comes within six feet of Jason. Given their history, it seems too intimate a distance. 

Tim Drake is striking, Jason must admit. His features are like something out of a homoerotic pre-Raphaelite painting, and Jason thinks—before he can stop himself—that Drake’s face is the kind Alfred Douglas would write poems about. A _beautiful youth_ , if a 22-year-old can be called a youth. 

Jason’s about to reiterate his question when Drake takes a full step back. 

“I don’t have anyone to talk to, Jason,” he says, “I know it’s not a big deal, but it's too—I can't stop feeling ashamed.” 

Jason nods slowly, “And whatever this is, you don’t feel ashamed to talk to _me _about it?”__

__“No,” Tim replies, “Or, well. I did until last week.”_ _

__Jason’s heart is beating faster and he’s not sure why. “Don’t you have tons of little hero friends? What could I possibly help you deal with, Tim?”_ _

__“You called me ‘Tim,’” the other man says, almost smug._ _

__“Yeah, Tim. Now tell me what you want, Tim. Before I kick you out of my apartment, _Tim_.” Some disconnected part of Jason’s brain feels relief at the prospect of addressing Tim Drake by his first name, as though saying ‘Drake’ had unconsciously been a chore. _ _

__“I’m attracted to men.” Tim says like he's just taken a punch to the gut._ _

__Jason closes his mouth tight. It’s strange. The statement is both surprising and, on some level, exactly what Jason was expecting._ _

__Tim continues, voice stronger, “Yes, I have people in my life like that, and I love them to death, and I’d never judge them. But it’s so hard when it’s _me_.”_ _

__“You’re gay, Tim?” Jason asks, in the tone he’d use to comfort a kid who’s scared of the monsters under his bed. It sounds too gentle to his own ears._ _

__Tim looks him dead in the eyes, “No. Not quite. My feelings for women have been authentic. I guess I’m bisexual. It’s just that lately I haven’t been able to repress the side of me that really wants to—to . . .”_ _

__“Suck cock?” Jason jokes reflexively. Damn, that’s insensitive and probably the last thing Tim wants to hear right now._ _

__“Yes,” Tim says, still making eye contact. “Exactly.”_ _

__Jason’s feeling hot all over. His mouth is dry, and he thinks he might gag on his own tongue, “So, what do you want from me?”_ _

__The question, weirdly enough, seems to put Tim back in his familiar Tim-mode, his getting-down-to-brass-tacks mode._ _

__“I want to ask you questions,” Tim begins, “Like, how do you meet other men? Which gay bars should I go to, and how do I know if I prefer topping or bottoming?”_ _

__“Whoa, one at a time!” Jason wheezes and motions for Tim to sit with him on the couch. It’s not a very nice couch, but it’s long enough that they can face each other with a comfortable distance between them. Jason is suddenly very grateful for the fact._ _

__“Okay, how do I meet guys?” Tim replies with the utmost seriousness._ _

__At this, Jason can’t help but snort, “Have you taken a look at yourself, Tim? Trust me, the guys will come to _you_.” _ _

__Shit. That sounds a lot like a come on and he desperately hopes Tim didn’t take it as such. The other man’s expression is inscrutable._ _

__Jason continues, “I’m not the guy to talk to about Gotham’s ‘scene.’ Shockingly, I can’t find the time to pick up gym bunnies at _Little Devil’s_ in between drug busts.” _ _

__“ _Little Devil’s_. Got it,” Tim says to himself, as though making a mental note. This guy. This fucking guy. _ _

__“Oh, and don’t worry about topping and bottoming until you actually find someone to fuck. Cart before the horse,” Jason titters._ _

__“What are you?” Tim asks unceremoniously, “A top or a bottom?”_ _

__Well, Jason kind of saw that question coming but he can’t help getting shy all of a sudden, “Again, I’m not pulling them in with both hands, Tim. But in the rare instances where I find myself in bed with someone, I try to be what they want. I don’t have a strong preference.”_ _

__“What’s your type?” Tim presses on. Jason doesn’t know how much more of this he can handle, or why he hasn’t sent Tim packing yet. (Yes, he does know.)_ _

__“I have a lot of types.” Jason says carefully. “What about you?”_ _

__“Not a type per se. It’s more like, I get hooked on one particular person,” Tim answers. He sounds almost _coy_. _ _

__“What are they like?” Jason breathes. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears and his chest feels like it’s hooked up to an electric current._ _

__“He's very handsome,” Tim says, no longer looking at him. “And smart and so effortlessly cool. When he looks at me, I feel like there’s nothing in the world I want more than to please him. To be good to him.”_ _

__“You are good,” Jason says stupidly, lost in the way Tim’s lashes hide his downturned eyes._ _

__“Wanting him scares me, not because I think he won’t reciprocate—he won’t—but because I dream about him holding me under him, kissing me, fucking me,” Tim says, and Jason shivers, “I keep thinking, man, I _must_ be a big queer, to want him . . . in that way.”_ _

__Jason’s heart is pounding so hard, he feels lightheaded. He notices, vaguely, that Tim is closer to him on the couch than he was before._ _

__“And I know I’m pathetic, but for the past week, I’ve been sucking on my toys and pretending it's him,” Tim whispers. His eyes meet Jason’s again, and he doesn’t look shy. Certainly not as shy as Jason feels._ _

__Tim shifts closer so that their shoulders and thighs touch. He laughs, “I know I’m probably not qualified to be giving blowjobs, but God, I want to be on my knees for him when he comes on my face.”_ _

__Jason moans, “ _Tim_.” And Tim is right there, so that when Jason angles his head, their lips meet effortlessly. Tim slips his tongue into Jason’s mouth and pushes him against the seatback, half-straddling his thighs. Jason grabs his ass and pulls him closer, pressing his own knee between Tim’s legs. They stay like that for a while, kissing urgently, until Tim slinks off of Jason’s lap and onto the floor. _ _

__He situates himself between Jason’s legs and begins kissing his inner thighs through the denim. He works his hands over Jason’s lap, kneading and grasping as though he were claiming the flesh there. Then those hands are at Jason’s belt and Tim looks up at him with an unspoken yet obvious question. Jason nods, because he can’t talk right now either._ _

__When it looks like Tim is preparing to crouch over his lap, Jason rises to his feet and guides Tim back onto his knees. He remains still, waiting for Tim to make the next move—which he does, with alacrity, undoing Jason’s belt with little fumbling and pulling his jeans down to his feet. Tim kisses Jason through his briefs, cupping his mouth over Jason’s very interested dick and moaning. Thankfully, what Tim sees when he pulls the briefs down doesn’t seem to disappoint, because his eyes grow focused and he takes one long lick up Jason's shaft with the back of his tongue._ _

__“Oh my God!” Jason cries when Tim takes him in his mouth, wrapping the remainder of Jason’s cock in his sure grip. Then he sucks him off like the goddamn rent is due tomorrow. Can this really be Tim’s first time going down on a guy? Had he hustled Jason by playing out a gay porn cliché? But why would Tim even do that? Before he can think too hard about the matter, Tim begins swiping his tongue along Jason’s shaft while he sucks, and “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”_ _

__When Jason knows he’s not going to last much longer, he cards his fingers through Tim’s soft black hair. “Lift your head, Tim.”_ _

__Then Jason gently pulls Tim’s head back and holds it in place while he takes himself in hand and begins pumping. It doesn’t take much before he’s spurting come all over Tim Drake’s mouth and chin. Jason collapses on the couch behind him and watches Tim through the postcoital haze. His hair is mussed, his cheeks flushed and his sweater rumpled. The hand that wasn’t jerking Jason's cock is buried in his slacks and he’s smiling in the totally unselfconscious way of someone who’s just lived out his wet dreams for the first time._ _

__Jason pulls his briefs back up but kicks off his jeans. He takes his time walking to the kitchen to fetch a dish towel and wet it, and when he returns, Tim’s still in his libidinal fugue state. Jason would be worried if Tim weren’t grinning like a maniac._ _

__“Here, let’s clean you up,” Jason says, and Tim comes back to himself, accepting the dish towel meekly._ _

__“Thank you,” he murmurs. Oh, so now he’s _bashful_. _ _

__“Hey,” Jason says, helping the other to his knees and guiding him away from the couch by the hand. “Do you have somewhere you have to be?”_ _

__“No,” Tim replies immediately._ _

__“Good,” Jason does his best to sound dead serious, “In my expert opinion, you are a dick-sucking prodigy and have a very promising career in dick-sucking ahead of you.”_ _

__Tim laughs brightly, eyes clear, “Thank you. I spent the week doing extensive web research on the discipline.”_ _

__Jason arrives at his bedroom door with Tim still in hand, “However, there is always room for improvement. If you have the time, I’m willing to help you refine your technique.”_ _

__Tim keeps laughing._ _

__“Please take this offer seriously,” Jason says, façade breaking, “I don’t make it for just anyone.”_ _

__Tim presses him against the door and Jason shuts up._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Jason in the first half of this fanfiction: Fuck u dumb birdboys lel  
> Jason in the second half: *a Boys II Men slow jam incarnate* 
> 
> I’m tired of lurking. I’ve started a new Jaytim side blog on tumblr: [https://dariahernandez.tumblr.com/](dariahernandez). Please talk to me. 
> 
> Lastly, the title is taken from Douglas’s famous poem “Two Loves.” I thought it apropos.


End file.
